“Is he the same man as the man you knew as Robert Durnford?”
The loquacious one’s homely features expanded into a broad grin.
“Law bless you, no, sir. He ain’t in the least like him.”
Mr Windgate could have danced with relief.
“He isn’t in the least like him,” he repeated emphatically, for the benefit of the jury. As for Roland himself, the first gleam of light since his arrest a month ago now darted in upon the rayless gloom of his soul. “Except—” The witness checked himself suddenly and with an effort. He could have bitten his tongue out. For Mr Benham had looked up quickly and was now making a note. Mr Windgate thought it better to let him go on.
“Except what?” he said playfully.
“I was goin’ to say, sir, leastways I was only thinking, sir,” answered the witness, stammering with confusion, “except it might be the way in which he stands.”
Mr Benham went on making his notes. His opponent’s feeling of relief was dashed, and the prisoner could have groaned aloud in the revulsion.
Then the witness in his roundabout way gave a voluble account of how the stranger had gone over to attend Wandsborough church, and had returned earlier than he was expected; and how he had come in while he—Grainger—was dozing.
“What time did he return?”